One Word | H.S.

Chapter Forty-Three

The craziest of them all, the Purple Cat.

And, the most heartbreaking.

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Levi's POV | Three and a Half Years Ago

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Plan.

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The sexual tension in the room is fucking insane.

I swear, two more minutes and Caden will be jumpin' Mary's bones, expressing his built-up love that has resided in his silly heart for the past year.

He's such a romantic, absolutely nauseating.

The glass bottle soothes my burning lips, the Balvenie swishing down my inviting throat with each deepened gulp as I look away from the failed porno.

Numbing both my tongue, and my mind, this fix is an open addiction.

Very honest about my shit, always have been. Hiding has never been a goal of mine, even if it's hell to admit.

Harry's weakened, alcoholic tendencies show with the downing of his prized vodka, both of us staring at the freak show on the couch.

Curlmania better learn how to handle whiskey, sip the brown liquid of the elite, or he'll never find his soulmate.

This guy will marry the most fucked-up person alive, promise. Balance him out a bit, probably push him to the brink of insanity.

I can't wait to meet her.

Gazing through drooped eyes, heavy lids weighing down my vision, I wave the handle in the Newlyweds direction. "Sweet Cheeks, Caden." I slur, Harry laughing to himself as Blondie appears psychotic, per-usual. "Can you get a room? Please, I'm trying to watch House Hunters." My voice is humorous, speaking through the grin that never leaves my face.

I'm always smiling, but I'm not even that fuckin' happy.

Similar to that of a seething vice, can't ever rid of this stupid smirk, hide my pearly whites from the fogged mirror of supposed joy.

I'm not even sad, per-say.

Though, I'm nowhere near as giddy as Harry. The dude was probably born without his dimple, formed over the years of constant joy.

Something, or someone, needs to roughen up his edges a little bit. Toss him around like a hot-potato, toy with his entirely-too-sane mind.

I've tried, on several occasions, but he still manages to laugh throughout the whole process, infuriating.

Personally, I don't think asking for a quick pound to my face with his ringed knuckles is asking too much.

But, he annoyingly disagrees with my simple request. 

His conscience is louder than Caden's voice on football Sunday, cheering for whatever game that's being played on the television.

Everyone needs to settle the fuck down.

"Unlike your drunk ass," Mary stands from the leather couch, ripping the bottle from my hands as I shoot up, "we're tryin' to figure shit out. Heard the news, right?" She throws her head back, inhaling my damn alcohol.